


All That We Have Becoming What We Had

by ContrEeri



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Asexual Character, Demisexuality, F/M, Grey-A, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-05
Updated: 2013-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-25 16:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/955338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContrEeri/pseuds/ContrEeri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor never wanted to fall in love with River Song; he never wanted to marry her; he never wanted to give her his name or his sonic or that stupid blue journal. He never wanted her to die. But some things are unavoidable. He can no longer prolong the inevitable; time has run out and he doesn't have the words to say just how much she has come to mean to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That We Have Becoming What We Had

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been running around in my head for a bit. This is my first time writing anything for the Doctor Who fandom. Part of the reason I ended up doing this, other than having way too many feelings about the Doctor and River, is because I personally view the Doctor as asexual and have been sort of frustrated at the lack of ace!Doctor fics for this pairing--which isn't to say it's not out there. This fic features a nondescript sex scene, but it is very vague and described more in metaphor than anything. In my mind, this fic features more of a demi! or grey-a!Doctor, but he could be read anywhere on the ace spectrum here.

# All That We Have Becoming What We Had

They were so different in so many ways: her with her guns and him with his sonic screwdriver; her sultry smiles and his goofy grins; him with his ridiculous hats and bow ties, and her with her elegant gowns and illogical heels; her with her kisses and roaming hands; him with his flailing arms and graceless gait. She was an archaeologist and he was a relic of history—the past and the future spread before his feet. They should have been worlds apart, but the Universe had thrown them together and despite the odds they shared their lives together in bursts when Time allowed. That was what they had: moments with one another, in between all the chaos of Time and all their secrets that separated them. Their moments felt so brief, whole nights that slipped between their fingers like water. 

But those moments were still theirs to share, and they held on tight to their nights, to those brief moments, and the words that passed between them.

Yet, some moments were not so sweet; some nights were forgotten; and not all words were of love—not for his part. He knew the right words to fill their moments: healing, kind, loving words; but mostly his words were clever and sharp so he could hide from her; and there were times his words were cruel and loud and angry and so full of blame. 

She deserved so much better than him. The younger days of their relationship—at least young to him—he had been so distant. But how could he not be, he’d reasoned with himself when the guilt settled in, knowing their future as he did? He knew how it ended; he’d skipped ahead to—or started at—the last chapter of their tale, and that meant it was fixed: once you’ve read the ending, nothing can be changed. It had to be fixed, dammit it all to hell. And if she was going to leave him like that then he might as well keep her as far away as possible from his hearts. 

_“Trust you? Seriously?”_

Words held so much power in them. It was why he had a library full of them—full of books and jars of languages. It was why his name was his most guarded secret; a secret only she knew or would know, someday. He could give that to her; he could give her his name like he should have given her so much more. If she had his name, she would have his hearts. 

_“Get out.”_

But his name would never be enough to cover the scars the millennia of harsh words had cut into her. Why did she always come back? How could she stand it? Not knowing when they were; not knowing if he’d spurn her or love her—the thought keeps him up on nights when he is not with her.  


When he is with her though, when she smiles at him so loving and full of adoration, it eases his guilt. But not enough; never enough because he will never let himself forget that he could save her. He should have saved her.

_“Don’t you dare.”_

He doesn’t know why it takes him so long to do it—or rather, he doesn’t know why he lets the fear keep him from it. He knows that he has to tell her, he has to give her his name like he has unwittingly and unknowingly given her his hearts. She needs to know, _deserves_ to know. But the fear grips him like a vice and he is paralyzed by it for years. They slip away like seconds in an hourglass; they spill away from him before he even realizes it. What are a few years to a time traveler, after all? 

He loves her too much to give her his name. He loves her so much that he has to. 

_“You and your secrets. You’ll be the death of me.”_

His pillow is the only thing that knows how the inevitable shakes him. It has soaked up his tears countless times in the dark void of space; it is no longer woven of fabric, but salt water. His hearts ache deep within his chest. He has run out of time—Time has finally betrayed him. 

_“He’s taking me to the Singing Towers. He’s been promising for ages.”_

He does take her. And he gives her everything he never gave her when they had all the time in the Universe. The Towers are breathtaking in their wonder, but his hearts are too heavy with the weight of what’s to come: the ever unavoidable future. When the Towers sing he cannot stop the tears from coming. 

She doesn’t ask questions. She just wipes them away. 

He cannot look at her as he listens to the Towers’ song. He thinks it is a song of mourning. They sing of what he is about to lose: her smile, her voice, her eyes, her skin, her hearts. She is a warm weight against him, comforting him in his sorrow that she knows nothing about and it is not _fair_. 

In a fit of desperation he drags her back to the TARDIS. He can prolong the inevitable. Time is not the boss of him. Fixed points be damned. He’ll keep her for years in his blue box, he’ll keep her safe and warm and with him. She doesn’t have to go, she never has to go. 

_“Don’t travel alone.”_

They always had words to fill their moments, no matter what filled the space within the moments—grief, fear, hope, love—but now he doesn’t have them. They have abandoned him in his hour of need and he is too desperate, he is too scared, and he is trying not to cry, he is trying not to choke, he is trying to hold on as his hearts break with the agony of loss that is to come. 

He kisses her because words have failed him and it’s all he has left.

They have always had kisses, of course. Usually she kisses him—always so confident and sensual, always so happy to drink him in. And he goes willingly because he loves her, but he doesn’t think she knows. He doesn’t think he’s ever said the words and the thought makes him hysterical; he has to force down a sob as he presses into the kiss, trying to devour her and breathe her in and make her a part of him. How could he not have told her? All those years, all those times—not once? 

How could she love him? 

Her eyes are glistening and he suddenly knows what to do. He knows how to tell her everything he hasn’t known how to put words to. He is awkward and fumbling because he is not one for such physical intimacy, but he guides her to their room with more confidence than he actually feels. She raises her eyebrow at him, all cocky and flirtatious and, just beneath all that pomp and flare, she is unsure. 

_“I don’t want to marry you.”_

He looks at her for a moment, the light falling on her making her glow, and he knows.

Her mouth is soft and inviting, like always. But there is a tentativeness in her kiss this time; she doesn’t let him devour her, doesn’t try to drink him in like she usually does. She is slow and careful; there is a promise in this kiss, but he doesn’t know who’s promise it is. They have never been this physically intimate because he has never wanted it. He appreciates her beauty, finds her sexy, and she even arouses him in a purely carnal way that is mostly alien to him. But he has never crossed the great chasm that has stood before him because crossing meant breaking down all those walls he’d build around himself and falling. Falling in love with River Song knowing how it all ends was the last thing he ever wanted to do. 

It’s not that he’s never done this before. There were a few times, scattered throughout his timeline, but it was so rarely appealing to him. It was not worth seeking out, and certainly not something he’d consider with anyone he felt casually about: the Doctor did not do casual. Besides, there was so much out there, so many more interesting things to discover: space, for starters. There were stars and planets and entire galaxies and peoples to see. Another person’s body was hardly worth exploring when compared to all that.

But here and now with River, in their last moments together, he needs this. It has settled deep in his soul and stolen his words right from him; he has nothing left to give her but all of himself and he wants to so desperately, so strongly that he feels raw to the touch. Her fingers skating across his face as they kiss are electrifying. He is burning up alive, he is regenerating in the moment over and over again and he is going mad with it. 

Her body is suddenly the entire universe, and he has never seen the Universe before—she is beautiful and glorious and a shimmering, wondrous goddess. She is everything, she is _his_ everything. He needs her like he has never needed anything in all his life. As he lays her down on his bed, Time stops. Nothing exists beyond this point. He can hear his hearts beating rapidly in his chest and he can feel hers through her ribcage. She opens her mouth to speak, but the words are caught in her throat. He has no idea what is going on inside her clever mind and he begins to pull back—maybe she doesn’t want this after all? Despite being married, despite all their years of flirting and kissing under galaxies and him catching her as she falls, perhaps he has cut her too deep with all his callous words to deserve this night with her. 

Her hand stops him, pulls him forward by the white scarf around his neck, and then her mouth is hot like a sun on his. The scarf cascades to the ground like a comet to earth. It pools at his feet in a whisper, but it is loud to him in the silence of their room. In the wake of its crash all he can hear is the echo of their mouths coming together. 

His jacket hits the floor promptly after and soon a meteor shower follows. 

The room has grown darker, but not dark enough that he can’t see her. The faint golden glow washes over her bare skin and she is a goddess beneath him. He takes it all back; the Universe could never compare to her and he realizes he has wasted far too much time chasing planets and stars. He has wasted their time with running away from the inevitable. He chokes on the knowledge of squandered nights and lost moments as he falls back to her mouth, into kissing her like she is the only source of life left. His hands roam her body, tracing on her skin the countless constellations they’ve charted, recreating the galaxies they’ve visited, mapping out the civilizations they’ve saved. 

Her love for him is whispered throughout the room and echoes in his mind. It clamors around in his head and sinks into his hearts, but it’s all wrong. She whispers “Doctor”, “my love”, “sweetie” and it’s not enough, it’s not all that he is. It’s not all that he wants to be to her. 

He hides his face in her honey curls that smell of Time and history and so much sweetness he could swear she were made of flowers. The words come to him like the rushing of a waterfall.

_“I just told you my name…”_

His name passes on a breath, on a gasp, in an instant that is gone. It moves like stardust from his mouth to her ear, and then there is only silence and stillness as his name settles inside her. She is a dying woman in a desert and his name is her salvation. Her eyes are brighter than stars when she turns her face to his. His hand is gone within her curls, up against her cheek, thumb caressing her skin. Her lips have parted, luscious mauve lines opening like the slow budding of a flower as she lets out a soft breath because there are no words left in her. But there is love and aw, and so much else that he cannot take—it fills him up, it overwhelms him in ways he never thought he could be—and he brings his mouth to hers again because the only way he can go on, the only way he can stop himself from imploding like a supernova is to kiss her, to pour it all back into her and let the cycle repeat, repeat, repeat. 

Over and over. 

He comes undone against her mouth; he unravels at the seams and she is all that holds him together. All of the love in the world is inside him, contracting and retracting, building up and up and up and all he wants is to share it with her, pour all his love into her so she knows— 

_“Always and completely.”_

The Universe begins and ends the instant he is inside her. She whispers her love and this time it is his name that passes from her lips; the TARDIS shakes with the power of it, gasped like a prayer with the resonance of River’s pleasure, with the echoes of their love. His entire existence is nothing but this moment; everything he has done, every moment has led him to this and nothing can compare to being with River so intimately. 

The world shakes, the universe is cracking, and there is nothing left but them and all their love. 

And it is their last moment, their last night, and these are the last words he will share with her. That knowledge pushes him over the edge. He cries out against her bare shoulder as he moves with her, sobs brokenly into her hair, and begs without words for her love and forgiveness and for her to never leave him. 

Her face is wet, too. There are tears in her eyes, rolling down her cheeks, and she is smiling brighter than he can ever remember her smiling. He never wants to look away. She kisses him and he closes his eyes so that he can burn the image of her satiated smile into his mind forever. 

The kiss does not last until the end of Time, the way he hopes. 

The TARDIS does not freeze Time around them so they can live like this for all eternity. 

Time moves forward and backward and every which way; it continues its wibbly wobbly existence. Their moment is over, their night at an end. 

River eventually finds her words and her clothes. 

The Doctor is just the Doctor once more, lying naked in their bed, cold and mute. 

The Universe crumbles around him and does not right itself as she leans over to whisper in his ear, “I wish I could stay, my love.” 

He wants to pull her back to him, drag her back into his arms where she will always be safe and protected. He wants to bring her back to the bed and hide her from everything dangerous in the world. He wants to keep her to himself so they never need goodbyes. 

It was a fixed point, he reminds himself. It is a hollow reminder, filled with a heavy grief that leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. 

She is gone in an instant and she has taken his hearts with her. He has nothing left anymore. 


End file.
